Kindness Repaid
by PineappleApproves
Summary: As Avallac'h and a wounded Ciri flee the Wild Hunt, fate has their next portal lead them to an undisclosed temple led by a woman known as the Abbess. While accepting their hospitality, Ciri is plagued by guilt knowing that her presence will draw the Wild Hunt there. Meanwhile, Avallac'h discovers an old secret within the temple he never imagined would confront him again. [Complete]
1. Temple of Wind

The temple's atmosphere was peaceful, filled with the gentle shushing of the tide on the nearby coast. The many wind chimes that hung from trees tinkled their chorus. A salty breeze perfumed the air, mixing with the fragrance of the sweet olive bushes and the smoky temple incense. No one was in the courtyard, as it was late in the evening and many had retired to bed.

So there were no witnesses to behold as the air wrinkled and twisted to open into a roaring portal. Two figures burst from the swirling rift, their feet scraping a cacophony against the paved stone. One held the other. Speckles of blood stained the courtyard ground on their arrival.

Immediately, the fracture in space closed behind them. All was silent once more, save for the sound of their heavy breathing. Her heeled boots dragged roughly across the stone. A hand pressed against her left thigh where a sword had slashed it. _Damn_ , it hurt.

She heard the soft pattering of approaching feet. Both she and her companion lifted their heads to see who was confronting them.

They came without torches or lanterns—nothing to illuminate the darkness. She could barely see who they were, and all she could tell was that there were two of them.

Then she heard one of them speak. Softly, to the one next to them. "Abbess." It was a woman's voice. "I recognize that one."

"As do I," the other replied, also a woman. Her voice was deep and throaty, but pleasant sounding all the same.

Her hand tightened on her thigh, and she ignored the waves of pain that crashed over it. "Where…?" she croaked, but she couldn't finish her question. She was exhausted and thirsty, and her head was beginning to feel light.

"Take them to the eastern hall," the woman, the one known as the Abbess, ordered. The other stepped towards them. Instinct made the one holding her draw back.

"Easy," the woman assured. "You're hurt. We can help."

"It's okay," she told her companion. She felt him relax. They were led from the courtyard. She found it peculiar that the woman navigated her way to the hall with no light at all. She seemed at ease with the blinding darkness.

Like the open air, the eastern hall too had no light. It was only when the woman nursed a fire into the hearth that she could finally see. The woman's hair was a soft brown, with a tinge of red. Locks at either side of her head were braided and pulled back to be tied loosely together. She wore a simple blue tunic and pants that ended at the middle of her shins. The woman turned back, and it became clear why she had required no light to illuminate her path. Her eyes were completely white. The woman was blind.

"Have a seat," the woman said, indicating towards a wooden bench by the crackling fire. Her gaze did not follow them as they went to take their seats. "I'm Nadja, by the way. And you… you're her, aren't you? The Lady of Time and Space? Cirilla?"

"Ciri," she corrected automatically. "And yes. You've heard of me?"

"When I've not much left but to hear, yes," Nadja replied. "And your companion. My apologies, but I don't recognize you."

"I didn't expect otherwise," he mumbled next to her, and Ciri fought down the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

"Your name, then?"

"Craven Espane aep Caomhan Macha. But if it is convenient for you, you may simply refer to me as Avallac'h." She hated whenever he did that.

"Oh… kay," Nadja said slowly. "I will."

Slow, shuffling footsteps reached their ears. Ciri looked back to see a middle-aged man enter the hall. Gray crept from his temples and his hairline, and had even infiltrated his beige beard. Ciri noticed how his eyes did not move from the blank stare he held in front of him. He crouched next to her and set down the bag he brought with him.

"Sword wound," he noted, though his eyes were pointed towards Avallac'h's knee.

"How bad is it?" Nadja asked.

"It will heal and the leg will work," the medic replied simply. He began pulling supplies from his bag—a cloth, a pot of salve, a spool of thread, and a case of various-sized needles. "Nadja," the medic said, "a bowl of water. And two cups for our guests."

The woman left quickly to fulfill the order. The medic rose to his feet and pulled over another bench so that he could sit across from Ciri. "How long since the wound was inflicted?" he asked.

"Less than an hour," Ciri answered. She had been slashed shortly before she and Avallac'h had fled through the portal, courtesy of the Wild Hunt. Then, she added the question, "Are you blind too?"

"I, and the rest of the temple," the medic said. "Do you not know where you are?"

"No."

"Hm," the medic grunted as he picked up the cloth and folded it neatly in half. "The abbess will fill you in, then."

"The abbess?" Ciri repeated. "Where is she now?"

"I believe she will wait until your wound is dressed and you are rested before she speaks to you," the medic replied. Nadja returned with the water, handing the bowl to the medic before offering the drinks to Ciri and Avallac'h. "I'm sorry," the medic said. "But you'll need to remove your trousers if I'm to clean this wound."

Ciri didn't see the harm. He was blind, anyway. However, she shot a look at the elf sitting next to her. He glared back. "I'm not leaving you on your own here," he told her.

"I'll be fine," Ciri snorted. "You can ease up on the leash."

"We're losing blood here," the medic piped in as he leaned on his knees. "Stay or leave, but do not hinder my work."

Avallac'h finally relented. Rising, he said, "I'll be close."

"Always is," Ciri sighed. Finally, she shimmied out of her pants, making sure to be delicate around her cut. With the cloth and water, the medic cleaned the blood away. Then he applied to salve on and around the wound. "A disinfectant," he explained to Ciri as he worked. "But mostly a numbing agent. It will make the stitching bearable." With the salve applied, the medic chose a medium-sized needle from the case and threaded it.

"Where am I?" Ciri asked as the medic readied his needle.

"A few miles from Roggeven," the man answered. "In a temple that borders the coast. Deml'ar Gaoithe."

"Temple of Wind," Ciri translated. "That explains the wind chimes."

"Hm," the medic grunted again. He lowered his hands and the needle towards her leg. "Let me know if you feel pain. Otherwise, you should feel only a faint tugging. You may look away if that helps."

"I've seen worse."

The medic didn't reply as he set about closing the wound. For a blind man, he stitched her leg with remarkable precision. "How are you able to do that?" Ciri couldn't help asking.

"Sightlessness does not always mean bumbling clumsiness," the medic mumbled. He offered nothing more. When the last stitch was placed, the medic tied a knot and cut the thread. He packed away his supplies. "The thread is made of collagen," he explained as he stood with his bag. "Dissolvable. When the wound heals the stitches will fall away on their own."

"Innovative," Ciri remarked.

"I suppose," the medic replied bluntly. "Keep the leg as still as possible. Nadja will show you to the rooms you'll stay in for tonight."

"Right," the woman said. "Two separate ones?"

"Yes," Ciri replied firmly. "Preferably on opposite sides of the temple."

Nadja gave her remark a humored grin. "Best I can manage is opposite ends of the hall," she jested back. The rooms she led them to were cozy and modest. There was a bed, and next to it was a nightstand with a stubby candle. But the bed was soft and the sheets were clean. That was all that mattered.

"Finally a decent night's rest," Ciri mumbled under her breath as she fell on the bouncy mattress. "Gods know I fucking deserve one."

* * *

It was late morning when Ciri awoke. Stark sunlight leaked through the window that was absent of any blinds or curtains. She threw her hands up and arched her back in a deep stretch. A loud exhale erupted from her mouth as she released herself from the stretch. Pain shot through her left leg, reminding her of the prior day's events. Ciri sat up and examined her thigh, gingerly feeling the stitches through her trousers.

She had been running for the portal's opening when she'd gotten slashed. A sword had been thrust towards her thigh with the intention of crippling her before she could escape. She'd swiveled to the side and caused the blade to score a cut around the circumference of her thigh instead, about three quarters of an inch deep. Ciri let out a heavy breath as she remembered the way she had stumbled then. They had only just barely managed to go through the portal in time.

Casting the memory from her head, she swiveled and planted her feet on the floor. Her boots had been discarded next to the foot of the bed, and her belt was draped over the nightstand. She was dressing herself when there was a soft knock at the door, and then it opened.

A familiar face appeared balancing a tray on one hand. "Breakfast," Nadja announced as she slipped through the door. She went over to the nightstand. Before setting the tray down, Nadja reached over and shifted Ciri's belt out of the way. Ciri still didn't quite understand how they managed to do that.

Smoked kippers and thick slices of nutty bread with blackberry jam wafted enticing odors into the air. "Didn't know if you could walk out on your own, so I brought some to you just in case," Nadja said.

"Thank you," Ciri replied. Just as Nadja was turning away, she quickly asked, "When can I see the abbess?"

"Your friend asked the same thing," Nadja replied, nodding her head towards the door. "And I'll tell you what I told him—the abbess will see you when she's ready. For now, eat up and let that leg rest." She left.

Ciri hadn't even gotten one slice of bread down when the door opened again. "How is your leg?" Avallac'h asked.

"As well as a cut up leg can be," Ciri answered. The elf ignored her remark as he stooped slightly to examine her leg.

"He did a decent job," Avallac'h noted. "Sit back, Zireael. Let me tend to the wound." Ciri obeyed, knowing Avallac'h's magic would speed up the healing rate exponentially. As he began casting over her leg, a tingling sensation pricked at her thigh. It was a strange feeling, but it wasn't unpleasant.

"Have you learned of our whereabouts?" Avallac'h asked as he worked.

"We're close to Roggeven," Ciri answered.

"Not too far from Novigrad, then."

"No. And this temple—Deml'ar Gaoithe, it's called. Elven." She gave the room a quick sweep with her eyes. "No elves here. Not that I've seen."

"And what about that surprises you, Zireael? Humans have a very active history of invading elven civilization, like rats to a larder." Ciri rolled her eyes at his statement. "Deml'ar Gaoithe," Avallac'h repeated. "Hmm… Never heard of this place before."

"Few have."

Ciri looked up, though Avallac'h continued casting. A woman leaned on the doorframe with one shoulder. She looked young—older than Ciri, of course—but 30 at most. Her course, wavy black hair fell in thick locks down her back. She wore the standard two-layered tunic—a tight, royal blue one held together by laces at the front over a thin, airy white one. A double-strapped belt wrapped around her waist, and from it hung a thin gold chain that looped in two low arcs. With every little movement, the chains rattled gently. The leather boots she wore were light and soundless. Though simple, her appearance gave off a regal air.

"Abbess," Ciri guessed, remembering the woman's voice from the night before.

The abbess straightened from the doorframe. "My Lady," she greeted. Her honey colored eyes stared over the girl's head. Ciri pursed her lips. The dark-haired abbess knew a lot—knew _quite_ a lot.

"There's no need for that," Ciri said. "Just Ciri is fine."

"Then I ask you to return the favor," the abbess replied. "Only the residents of my temple refer to me as 'abbess,' and you are not one of them." Almost as if she detected the subtle change in Ciri's mood, the abbess continued, "You are not sightless, so you cannot stay here. But I will not cast you out. Not until your leg has recovered."

"What would you like us to call you then?" Avallac'h asked. He had finished with Ciri's leg for the day. She moved it. It hurt still, but it was a pain she could ignore.

"Demadira," the abbess replied. A smile curved her lips as she added, "But if it is convenient for you, you may simply refer to me as Dema." Avallac'h said nothing, but Ciri grinned at the cheeky comment. "And you," Demadira said, turning her face towards the sage. "Avallac'h—or as Nadja tells me: the one with the name that goes on and on—you are an elf?"

"Yes," Avallac'h replied. "And does that bother you?"

"I married an elf," Demadira stated. "And my mother was one. So please, Avallac'h, the only thing that bothers me is your tone."

Demadira was a half elf? Ciri would've never guessed—the abbess looked human through and through. The half elves she had seen showed much of their elven blood through their appearance—slim frames, cascading locks of silken hair, and the telltale point of their ears. The abbess's feminine curves were slightly marred by her bulky physique. Her hair was course and thick, and her ears were round.

"How could you tell he was an elf?" Ciri asked, glancing at Avallac'h. If she had only his voice to go by, she never would have guessed.

"The way he articulates his words. There's a difference," Demadira answered, tilting her head a few degrees as she spoke. "It's subtle, but it's there. He sounds… yes, that's it. He sounds like the Hound."

This time, Ciri couldn't hold back her chortle. "A hound?" She couldn't believe the abbess had compared Avallac'h to a dog. That definitely wouldn't please him.

"No, the Hound," Demadira corrected. "A person. An elf, in fact. That's how I knew. You sound a bit like him."

"Do I?" The sage sounded unusually intrigued. Ciri looked up at him. His brow was furrowed slightly as he frowned at Demadira. "This Hound… is that the only name he goes by?"

"It is the name he wishes to be called," Demadira said, placing her hands on her hips.

"And how is he blind?"

"That's an insensitive question, Avallac'h." Demadira sounded as though she were chiding a rowdy adolescent. "I never ask, and I don't plan to."

"Of course," Avallac'h said.

The abbess fell silent. Regarding them wasn't quite the term Ciri would've used for what she did. Listened? It was a sightless scrutiny that didn't make Ciri feel any less watched. Then, the lull broke when Demadira said softly, "Deml'ar Gaoithe is sheltered from the world by the sea on one side, and a ring of mountains on the other. The water and shallow and perilous to ships, and the only way through the mountains is by a long, winding tunnel through the rock. Many have perished in that tunnel, and only those who feel at home with darkness are able to navigate its maze. We are not accustomed to the uninvited, but we aren't barbarians. So long as you are here, you will be protected. My people will treat you with the utmost respect. But I am their abbess, and I will not tolerate any disorder or harassment." She let empty air follow her words.

Ciri opened her mouth to speak, but Avallac'h quickly shot her a silencing glare.

"You'll find no trouble from us," the elf replied.

"Thank you." To Ciri, she said, "Rest well." Turning on her heel, Demadira left the two to the room.

Once they were alone again, Ciri looked to Avallac'h with raised eyebrows. "That went well," she mused.

"Remarkable how she makes us seem welcomed and unwelcomed at the same time," Avallac'h responded.

"I know. I thought you were the only one who spoke in mixed, backwards messages and riddles."

The elf didn't look very amused. "How is your leg?" he asked again.

"It's fine," Ciri answered dully.

"It should only take a week to heal," Avallac'h predicted. "For now, we can put our lessons aside."

"A week?" Ciri repeated. It wasn't like the elf to stay in one spot for so long.

Avallac'h sighed. "The portal was abrupt, and its coordinates were random," he explained. "It will take Eredin a while to pick up our trail, especially in a place as isolated as this. And given what we have gone through, I do believe a little respite is in order."

"Your feet starting to hurt?" Ciri teased. She paused as a realization came to her. "But once Eredin catches my scent again, he'll come looking for us here."

"We'll be long gone by then."

Ciri shot a glare up at Avallac'h. "You know that's not what I mean."

"Zireael," Avallac'h said. "We must put your protection above that of anyone else's. Slowing down to save everyone from the Riders is impossible, and will put you right in Eredin's reach. This is common sense." Ciri looked away. "With any luck, Eredin will not find this place, or leave it alone to pursue us."

"Do you really think he'll do that?"

Instead of answering, Avallac'h headed for the door. "Try not to worry," he told her. "Stay in your room and rest."

"Oh, I'll _definitely_ do that."

"I don't know why I even bothered." The elf's mutter trailed him as he disappeared through the doorway.

* * *

At Ciri's request, Nadja led the girl around on a tour of the temple's almost forty acres of grounds. The place was beautiful, as elven-crafted sites were. Flora grew in kempt harmony with the stonework. Wherever they went, the tinkle of wind chimes and the cool touch of ocean breeze followed them. Many of the areas of the temple grounds were residential. People actually _lived_ here, Ciri realized. This was their home.

But she also recognized that a portion of the temple grounds was dedicated to training. She asked Nadja what kind of fighters was drilled here.

"They are what the abbess refers to as the crown jewels of Deml'ar Gaoithe," Nadja answered with a prideful beam. "They are called the Fairtheoirí. In common, that's—."

"Sentinels."

"Right," Nadja said. "It's very tough to join their ranks, or so I hear."

"You're not one of them?"

Nadja laughed. "Do I look like one, Ciri? I'm just a temple resident, though I conduct most of the caretaking here. The novitiates go through extensive training. It's a grueling process."

"I can sympathize," Ciri said, thinking back to her time at Kaer Morhen.

"If you want to know more about the Fairtheoirí, you can ask the abbess. She trained as one when she first came here. Her teacher was her predecessor—Abbot Calyn."

Ciri kept that in mind for when she next saw Demadira. The Fairtheoirí fascinated her, especially knowing that there was a class of warriors similar to witchers. They came to a stone terrace that bordered the edge of the temple. Here, the water could be seen beyond the long stretch of rocky sand.

"How did you get here?" Ciri asked, switching to a different topic as she watched the sea lap against the beach.

"Same as everyone else," Nadja said. "We're found."

"Found?"

"Yes, the Fairtheoirí find us as they travel the world—children born without sight or adults who have lost theirs. They give us the option to be taken to the temple, and most agree. It's not hard to understand why. If they have the time, the Fairtheoirí will lead us here themselves. Or they will leave a scent marker and the Hound finds us."

"The Hound?" This was the second mention Ciri had heard of him.

"Yes, that's his main duty—to find the scent markers and bring the person back here. I don't know how he manages. Sometimes the person will be beyond Redania's borders, but he always finds them."

"He's an elf," Ciri noted, remembering Demadira's words.

"Elves, half elves, quadroons. They all live here. A few dwarves, too."

A community as mixed as this one was rare. In fact, Ciri could think of no other place as diverse as this. In the world beyond the hidden temple, such a communion was impossible.

"We are more the same than we are different," Nadja explained, as though she knew what Ciri was thinking. "We all want to live. We want to be accepted, be happy. And we are all sightless. Whether someone is an elf or a dwarf, or anything else, hardly matters in the scheme of things."

"This temple is centuries ahead in their thinking," Ciri said.

"You think so?" Nadja said with a bashful smile. "Well… it's just common sense, isn't it?"

"It is."

They walked from the terrace and headed towards the center of the temple grounds. As they did, voices drifted with the wind. They grew louder with every step. Words spoken in harmonic unison reached Ciri's ears, and she realized from their intonation and words that it was a prayer.

They walked around a sprawling tree. Ciri spotted a small assembly gathered in front of a beautifully sculpted effigy of the goddess. They kneeled with burning incense in their hands, and among the front row was the abbess. A brass pot sat at the foot of the statue.

 _"Mother Melitele, offer us guidance should we stray. Give us strength when we are weak. Show us compassion when we are unwanted—so that we may do the same. We walk in light and in dark. We see without seeing."_

Ciri noticed that Nadja had bowed her head and followed along with the prayer in a hushed voice. When they were finished, all except for the abbess rose to plant their incense into the pot and quietly depart. When only the abbess remained in front of the statue, Nadja lifted her head.

Demadira was still quietly speaking. Her hands clasped the stick of smoking incense between her hands as she continued, "Keep my brothers and sisters safe. Watch over them, Calyn. Keep my love safe… and happy." Demadira bowed her head lower and raised her hands a little higher. After a few heartbeats, she rose and planted her incense. Then she walked away from the statue. As she passed the two, she said, "Carry on, Nadja. There's still much to see."

"Dema," Ciri said, stopping the abbess in her tracks. "If you're not busy, I want to ask you something."

"I am not busy if you ever need something," Demadira replied as she turned back to Ciri. "But first you must take your weight off of that leg. Sit."

Ciri glanced around for a bench, but there was none. That was not the idea the abbess had in mind. Demadira lowered herself onto the grass under the tree and sat cross-legged. With Nadja's help, Ciri sat on the ground across from her.

"How is Merithe?" Demadira asked Nadja.

"The fever's passed," the brunette woman answered. "And the baby is fine, too."

"Good. Check on them, please."

"Yes, Abbess." Nadja's soft footsteps retreated away.

Demadira rested her hands idly on her thighs. "Your friend," she began lightly, "has been casually interrogating people about the Hound. Has he not been around his own people in a while?"

It seemed the abbess wasn't aware that Avallac'h was not one of the Aen Seidhe. "No," Ciri answered. "He's been away from home for a while."

Demadira gave a single nod. "It's an uncomfortable pain to bear," she agreed. "But his search will be in vain, I'm afraid. The Hound is quite reserved—he keeps to himself and hardly shows. I am one of the few he ever speaks to. Now." Demadira gave her thighs a light slap. "What was it you wanted to ask?"

"Nadja told me a bit about the Fairtheoirí," Ciri said.

A knowing smile came to the abbess. "And it intrigued you?" she guessed. "As it would. You were raised by witchers, and I have seen many parallels between them and my Fairtheoirí."

Ciri gave a nod, and then quickly remembered to say, "Yes."

"Well, hmm… how do I explain? The Fairtheoirí are the temple's elite warrior echelon. Electing to join the ranks is optional, but one must give up their name and go through intense training. Sightlessness is not accepted as an excuse. Training does not only include combat, but mastery of movement and stillness as well. A Fairtheoirí's blindness is an asset, and you'll have to forgive me when I say that I truly believe they are better than their seeing counterparts."

If what Demadira said was true, Ciri yearned for the opportunity to spar with a Fairtheoirí. Maybe even with the abbess herself.

"And then there is another parallel with witchers," Demadira continued. "As part of their training, the novitiate is fed concoctions that enhance senses—namely tactile and auditory ones." With a grin, the abbess added, "I hear the pattering of your friend's feet even now. Probably still looking for the Hound, I would guess. But that is where the similarities end. Discipline is the single most important aspect of the Fairtheoirí. They follow the Oath. All swear to it upon gaining their rank. And once they do, their name is returned to them."

"And you trained as one."

"I did. And I won't deny it—it was awful. I wanted to quit, but Calyn wouldn't let me."

"I thought you said becoming a Fairtheoirí was optional."

"It was supposed to be, but when I came to the temple, the Fairtheoirí were a dying race. The ranks dwindled when Calyn became abbot, because he decided that not all who came to the temple should have to be a Fairtheoirí. Some just wanted a normal life, and he granted that. But the echelon paid for his decisions, and their numbers declined sharply. He was a desperate man when I met him. But looking back, I'm glad he pushed me. A friend of mine, Lovise, once told me she couldn't imagine herself as anything else. I share in that sentiment." Demadira leaned her head against a hand. "She's gone now," the abbess sighed. "Like many I once knew."

Despite her youthful appearance, age seemed to weigh her shoulders down. As a half elf, Demadira's lifespan stretched further than a human's. Ciri wondered just how old the abbess was.

The shouting of children drew Ciri's attention. She looked to Melitele's statue. The space in front of it was now crowded with a group of playing children. As they darted around, a little girl had her toe caught in the crevice between tiles. Her body smacked on the ground. Demadira sighed, her eyes still directed towards Ciri. "They'll learn," the abbess said softly. "If that is it, Ciri, I must take my leave now." Demadira rose and offered a hand down. Ciri took it and pulled herself up to her feet.

"Thanks for the chat," she said. Demadira answered with only a smile and turned away. The soft clatter of the gold chain accompanied her quiet steps.


	2. Lacerations

With Avallac'h's continual healing, Ciri soon found her hobble fading and giving way to a fairly normal gait. She spent the next two days exploring the temple, sometimes in the company of Nadja or some other temple resident, and sometimes alone. She met a few Fairtheoirí—those who remained behind to keep order. One, named Gregor, she challenged to a quick spar.

A small smile flickered onto Gregor's face, and he asked about the condition of her leg.

"I can fight," Ciri answered.

Gregor shook his head. "Perhaps later," he replied. Frustration knotted in Ciri's stomach, but she took the refusal and wandered away. She found herself moving towards the main tower towards the back of the temple grounds. A large statue of Melitele stood in front of it, her head bowed to look down at Ciri and her stone lips curved in a warm smile. She walked past the statue and walked through the grand doors of the massive tower.

Light came into the building in soft beams through the open windows. Pale stone gave the temple's interior a brightened atmosphere. Grayish blue tiles lined the edges of the ceiling and floor, accenting the white. Gentle arcs curved the windows and ceiling in the classic elven style. Ciri paused by a wall to examine the carved relief of a flowering tree.

As she approached the end of the large chamber, Ciri found herself standing at the mouths of two hallways. One led to the left, the other to the right. She glanced at both of them before making the brisk decision to head right.

Her boots clicked quickly over the white and blue tiles as she followed the hall. Ciri turned the corner and found that the hallway ended abruptly at a door. She stalled only long enough to throw a glance over her shoulder. The hinges were silent as the door opened.

Beyond was a bedroom that was only slightly bigger than the one Ciri had stayed in. A bed was tucked against the wall at the other end so that it was under a window. Something silver on the wall glimmered and caught Ciri's eye. A mask. It was only large enough to cover the upper half of a face, and there were no holes for the eyes. Tentatively, Ciri stepped into the room. There was a vanity against the wall to her left, though its mirror was dusty and rusted over.

There was only one thing that sat on the vanity's surface—a worn piece of folded paper. Time had yellowed the page to golden sepia. Ciri walked over to it and gingerly lifted it up. With careful fingers, she unfolded the paper.

It was a letter. Or… that's what Ciri figured it was. The writing was so faded that the ink that had managed to remain had been reduced to a brownish gray.

 _De—_

 _I don't know where you've gone. The witcher told me you're at a safer place, and I hope he's right. Novigrad was never kind to you. Even when I know this, I still want you to come back. Is that selfish of me? I don't know what it's like to be a half elf. Maybe you shouldn't come back. But I still want you to_.

The rest of the letter was too faded to make out. Ciri squinted and brought the letter closer to her face. She could just barely read the last sentence.

 _—one thing I wanted to say: Aé minnen'es anónaí._

There was a sign off below it, but that too was illegible. Though, given what she had read, Ciri had a good idea who had penned the letter. She remembered Demadira's words from a few days ago. _I married an elf._ But the letter was so old and faded, and she wondered how much time had passed between now and when it had been written.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Ciri wasn't sure if they were coming down the hall or not, but she panicked all the same. Quickly, she folded the letter and placed it back on the vanity. She knew she couldn't be seen snooping around the abbess's room, and in a blink she was no longer there.

The shadow of the tower lit up momentarily with a flash of green. Ciri quickly caught herself on the wall of the building. She took a moment to scan her empty surroundings and hurried out from the shadows. Once back in public space, she slowed down to a leisurely trot. If Avallac'h had known about her poking around, he would've given her an earful for sure.

Ciri stopped abruptly when a ball bounced across her path. A pair of loud children raced after it. A boy, much younger than the others, trailed after them. Nearby, a woman stood to supervise them.

Someone was sitting at a stone bench on the opposite side of the yard. What drew Ciri's eyes was the stark contrast of his clothes against his surroundings. He could have rivaled Yennefer with the amount of black he wore. In fact, it was the only color that adorned his body.

What was even more unusual was that his clothes didn't seem like clothes—rather, like wrappings that enshrouded his entire figure. Even his face was concealed by it. A short cloak, also black, covered his shoulders.

He sat with one arm draped over the table. A small ceramic cup was tucked in his open hand. The other gripped his knee, and it seemed to Ciri that he was listening to the children play.

Suddenly she saw his wrappings ripple as he turned his head ever so slightly. The youngest boy had scraped his knee and was wailing loudly. The woman hurried over to tend to him. As she passed between Ciri and the man on the other side, Ciri only caught a brief glimpse of him rising to his feet. When the view of the bench became unobscured again, it was empty. The only evidence of the man's existence was the cup he had left in his wake.

"Zireael." Avallac'h appeared at her side. "Where have you been this morning?"

Ciri offered a shrug and folded her arms in front of her chest. "Walking around," she answered. "And you?"

"Same," the sage replied. "This place is interesting, I'll admit. I've never known anything like it."

Ciri lowered her eyes, the guilt she had been holding down resurfacing in her mind. The more attached she had gotten to the temple, the more worried it made her. There were civilians here. Children. But none of that would matter to Eredin if he came here. Anything that got in his way was…

Her train of thought was broken when she spotted the ball bouncing towards her. Immediately, a foot shot out to kick it back, and the children changed course to chase it.

"Mind your leg," Avallac'h said quietly.

"It's not about to fall off from kicking a ball."

She heard Avallac'h respond, but the loud, resounding banging of a low bell covered his voice. The children stopped playing. One of them snatched up the ball, and the woman herded them away.

"It's nice and peaceful here," Ciri remarked as she watched the retreating children. "Almost wish I could stay but… That would be doing more harm than good, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Avallac'h agreed quietly. "And we cannot afford to pause for longer than we need to. Not that the abbess would permit that—she's made it very clear that our days here are numbered."

Ciri turned away, glaring at the large statue of Melitele peeking over from the short trees and rooftops. "I'm tired," she grumbled under her breath. "I'm tired of running and I'm tired of the Wild Hunt. I'm tired of having to be careful of who I trust because they might use me or die on me. I'm tired of this Elder blood."

"Someone had to bear this burden, Zireael."

"That makes me feel _loads_ better." Ciri marched away, moving faster than her leg could handle. She bit down and ignored the pain. The girl didn't stop until she could see the coast again, and paused next to a birch tree that grew in a small, unpaved patch. Its pale, slender trunks reached from the ground like silver fingers. Amidst its dainty branches was a small wind chime that looked hand made—beads tied to frayed strands of string. The wind touched the yarn, tinkling the beads together.

"Ah, I thought your steps sounded familiar," said someone from behind. Nadja gave the birch's smooth bark a touch as she passed it. "Sorry for running up on you like this. Hamilton wanted me to ask how your leg is doing."

"Hamilton?"

"Yes, he's the one who stitched up your leg." Nadja beckoned towards Ciri's wound. "Is it healing all right? Stitches come out yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Hamilton said it was best to give it some air. Given where it's at, maybe you could wear a skirt. I have a few you can borrow, though I'm not too sure how they'll fit."

"No, I appreciate it, but… no."

Nadja shrugged lightly. "I get it," she replied. "Some girls don't like wearing dresses. I hear the abbess hasn't worn a dress since her wedding d—oop!" The woman quickly popped a hand to her mouth. "Maybe I wasn't supposed to say that," she added quietly. "Hamilton told me my mouth is like the sun—always moving during the day. Threatened to stitch my mouth shut." Nadja groaned and rolled her eyes. It seemed even that gesture wasn't lost on the blind.

Ciri looked back at the beach. She heard Nadja say, "Beautiful, isn't it? Or at least… it sounds and smells beautiful."

Unable to hold back her curiosity any longer, Ciri asked, "How did you tell I was looking at the beach?"

"I guess it's hard to believe you can notice things without seeing them," Nadja admitted. "But when you've grown up without eyes, your other senses make up for it. Like my hearing—I can hear your hair brushing against your collar, and that tells me you turned your head. And I feel the air being pushed when you move—it's a very subtle wind. Not like the kind that blows and sounds the chimes."

"That's incredible."

"Not really. Not when you've lived like this your entire life." Nadja motioned towards the water. "And speaking of the beach, the abbess has noticed your friend has gone out there quite a few times. She asked him why, but he just said a lot of things and never answered the question."

Ciri sighed. "Yeah, he's good at that."

"Do you know why he goes out there?"

"No. I wasn't even aware."

"Can you ask him? It's just that the abbess is trying to look out for us, and—no offense—but your friend is kind of… off. Besides, no one really goes out onto the beach besides th—Ah!" Nadja groaned again. "Never mind; babbling again. I need to go help prepare supper. The little ones eat twice their weight. The bell will sound once it's ready." She turned around and scurried away.

What _was_ Avallac'h doing on the beach? Ciri was curious herself. It was quite a ways beyond the temple border. She turned away from the birch tree and headed back towards the center of the temple.

She found the elf sitting on the stone bench that the strange, cloaked man had sat on earlier. The cup was gone. "Didn't take you for the kind to go on leisurely strolls along the beach," Ciri began before he could say anything.

Avallac'h gave a dismissive shrug. "Sometimes I desire a breath of fresh air," he replied.

"If the answer is that simple, why are you dodging the abbess's question?"

"Your kind gets easily offended, Zireael. I am simply trying to stay on her good side."

"So instead you make her suspicious."

"What she thinks of me is no concern of mine. If she is suspicious, she should learn to temper it. The abbess is a woman of reason… at least, I hope she is."

Ciri crossed her arms. "I can see why you've few friends."

"I think you'll agree when I say having friends is not exactly an asset to us, is it?"

Ciri exhaled loudly as she uncrossed her arms. "If you're not going to tell the abbess, I will. At least she'll know that at least one of us is worth the trust she's given."

"If that makes you feel better, go ahead."

She could practically feel the elf's stare boring into her back as she headed towards the main temple again. Her eyes flickered up to Melitele as she passed the statue. The tall doors were slightly ajar, and Ciri slowed when she heard voices leaking from its crack.

"—them out _now_."

Ciri strained her ears as she peeked through the crack. All voices had hushed. Inside the temple, she saw the abbess standing by a window on the right side of the chamber. Next to her stood the man wrapped in black. Both he and the abbess had gone still, as though listening. Then, the cloaked man quickly hurried away and disappeared down one of the halls.

"Wait!" Ciri demanded, slipping through the doors. She took a few steps towards the hallways at the far end, and then the abbess turned towards her.

"Ciri, might I have a word with you?" Her voice was austere.

"Who was—?"

"A word, first," the abbess reminded sternly.

"Okay."

At first, Demadira said nothing as she stood there by the window, her eyes pointed a few inches to Ciri's left. Then, she said, "Please stay out of my room." Ciri felt her heart drop a little. "I do not need to tell you that such an action is rude, do I?" Demadira continued.

The girl pressed her lips into a thin line, and then answered, "No. I'm sorry."

"This first offense is forgiven. I am not a stranger to the allure of curiosity. Just understand that very little happens in this temple without my knowing."

"Right," Ciri said. "The Fairtheoirí potions. You must have the hearing like a witcher's."

"Maybe. I've never compared," Demadira said. "The letter—did you touch the ink?"

"Just the edge," Ciri answered.

"Good." Demadira turned back to the window and rested a hand on the sill.

"Have you ever read it?" Ciri asked.

"With my own eyes? What do you think?" the abbess said, still facing the window. "A friend of mine, the one who delivered it, read it out loud for me." She paused. Ciri saw her hand tighten on the windowsill.

"Who was it from?" Ciri dared to ask.

"I think you are far too clever to still be in the dark," Demadira said. Softly, she continued, "He's still in Novigrad, I believe. Wouldn't be surprised if he curses my name to this day."

"Why?"

"We grew up in Novigrad together. City life is harsh to elves, but even harsher to half elves. Not only that, but I was an orphan. He never cared about any of that. He could have had an elf girl instead—I've heard they're beautiful—but he chased after me. When I disappeared and came to the temple, he… he waited. I was 19 when I went back. He asked me to marry him and I said yes even before he finished the question."

Demadira sighed and leaned her elbows on the window. The dying sun pushed shadows across her face. "I never gave him any children. The Fairtheoirí potions—they affect fertility. Less so for men, but they render women practically barren. I think there's only been one instance of a female Fairtheoirí bearing a child. Again, he never complained. And then one day, I received a message. Calyn—the abbott at the time—was dying. He had chosen a successor. And then it was my turn to choose. I don't blame him if he hates me. I broke his heart. And mine too."

Turning her head slightly, Demadira said, "You've been to Novigrad recently, haven't you? I've heard about the Church of Eternal Fire going after nonhumans there. I've thought about going back just to make sure, but…" The abbess gave a curt, hollow laugh. "I'm a little afraid, wouldn't you know?"

"Of what?" Ciri asked, stepping up to the window. "The Church—those barbarians persecute anyone with even the slightest connection to magic. And they're harassing nonhumans because they're real lovely like that. But you look human."

"Oh, the Church doesn't scare me," Demadira snorted. "But I don't want to know what I'll find in Novigrad. If he's still alive, if he's not. If he's moved on." The abbess pushed away from the window. "It's selfish, but part of me hopes he's still waiting. Another wishes that he has found happiness. What we had was never going to work, but we didn't listen." Demadira motioned towards the large doors and the temple beyond. "But I am abbess now. I can't leave and try to pick up the pieces of my past. Maybe, once I have found a successor…" Demadira broke off with a shrug.

"I don't know why I've told you all this, Ciri. I really don't. I guess now was finally the time to get this all off my chest, and I doubt our paths will cross again after this."

"You never know," Ciri said.

Demadira turned her head towards Ciri. "I will make sure it doesn't," she said slowly. "Remember where you are."

"Not before a spar," Ciri challenged quickly. The abbess raised her eyebrows.

"A spar?" she mused. "Against me?"

"Never faced a Fairtheoirí before."

"And I've never faced a Lady of Time and Space before, so this could be interesting." The abbess grinned. "But don't think I'll lift a finger with your leg like that. No, don't you start with me. You can wait a few days."

"Maybe not," Ciri said, her voice growing somber. "Avallac'h is right. We have to leave as soon as we can. The longer we stay here, the closer we draw the Wild Hunt to this place."

Demadira was silent as she considered the girl's words. She leaned back against the pale wall. "The Hound shared your sentiment," she admitted. "He wanted the two of you out as soon as possible. But I gave you my word, and I intend to keep it."

"The Hound?" Ciri repeated. "Was that who you were just with? The man covered in black?"

Instead of responding, Demadira lifted her head and pointed an ear towards the window. "Go to the beach, please," she suddenly said. "Western side. Hurry."

Ciri was taken aback. The beach? She remembered what Nadja had said earlier about Avallac'h. Turning away, she focused her mind and took a deep breath. Then, in a flash of green, she was gone.

* * *

Sand crunched and shifted underfoot as he walked towards the lone shape protruding from the ground. Evening was settling, and the sunlight was growing weak. Still, he could tell the small spire in the sand was a sword.

Or a dagger, he realized as he pulled it from the ground. Bits of sand stuck to its course, rusted surface. There wasn't a speck of metal left showing through the coppery red tarnish. The blade was only about the length of his forearm.

Avallac'h turned the dagger in his hands, noticing with displeasure the chalky red marks it left on his fingers. Footsteps hurried to where he stood, so soft and quick he hardly heard them. Eyes the color of chipped ice flickered up to the falling sun.

A voice, soft and deep, spoke in a quivering tone that belied seething rage. "Put that back."

"I thought this might be important to you," Avallac'h said, his back still facing the other. He had stopped, preserving a generous distance between them. "Given how often you come out here."

"I'm not asking again."

"You attempt to sway me with empty threats." Avallac'h haphazardly stuck the blade back into the sand and turned. "Has your time spent here rusted your edge just as much, Ain—?"

He didn't hear the other fly at him nor see the fist that cracked against his jaw. Avallac'h didn't stumble and planted a foot down in the sand to steady himself. He saw double for just the briefest of moments before blurry outlines realigned themselves.

"Don't you _dare_ ," came the roar, "utter that name!"

The elf straightened up in a flash, holding an arm out. The air cracked with a boom, and the figure cloaked in black shot back and slammed heavily into the beach. A wave of sand flew up from his impact.

Avallac'h knew too well that the Hound had been trained as a fighter. He was on his feet in an instant, but the newly conjured force field kept him from fleeing the beach. And Avallac'h knew that as a fighter, he would lash out when cornered.

The Hound was almost upon him when Avallac'h managed to throw a hand out. Fingers stretched out and a flat palm faced the now immobile opponent. "Coward!" spat the Hound. "No magic! Face me like a true Red Rider!" His body twitched as he fought against the spell, but he wasn't going to break out of his lock until Avallac'h wanted him to.

"It was never my intention to have our confrontation resort to this low a standard," the sage said, watching the Hound carefully. The wrappings around his head had loosened. Long, black hair was beginning to seep through the slackened cloth. The point of one ear showed.

"Rich, coming from you!" the Hound snapped back, his voice full of hate. "I remember when I last saw your face, Craven! Did you enjoy the spectacle? Did you jeer with the rest when that bastard carved his lies into my face?"

Avallac'h's brows crashed heavy over his eyes as he struggled against the flurry of emotions that the Hound's words wrought in him. Memories, cruel and sharp as the knife Eredin had used, dug into his brain. Two of the Red Riders had held the young lieutenant's arms back while the general himself pulled his head back by the hair. Black locks twisted and knotted in Eredin's clenched grasp, while his other hand held the hovering knife with the precision of a surgeon. "This is what happens to enemies of the king," the general announced in a glassy voice. In contrast, the air was cleaved by the frantic, desperate pleas of the disgraced lieutenant. Those words, spouting from a terrified young man, fell on deaf ears. Avallac'h could only bear to watch the knife descend towards the lieutenant's eye, and then…

"I looked away. Couldn't watch. I knew it was wrong." His voice came out soft in the still evening.

"And yet you did _nothing_." Each word was enunciated heavily, pushed through gritted teeth.

"What would you have me do?" Avallac'h demanded. "Speak out? Defend the man that everyone saw as a criminal? Then I too would have shared in your fate, and there would have been none to negotiate for your life."

There was a pause. "I know what kind of things you let slide from your forked tongue," the Hound growled. "So don't try to feed me your shit. I know exactly where your loyalty stood that day."

"Auberon aimed to have you executed after Eredin was done with you. He would have had your remains paraded through the streets." The lock was released as Avallac'h lowered his arm. The Hound was ready to listen. "I held an audience with the king—contended for a simpler fate."

"Ah," the Hound mused with a bitter laugh. "To be cast out into a world that had been ravaged by the White Frost and freeze to death. At least the cold was able to numb my butchered face."

"And did you think it a coincidence that you happened upon a portal? One that led you safe into the world of the Aen Seidhe?"

"Fate was kind to me when nothing else was," the Hound replied stubbornly.

"Don't be daft," Avallac'h snapped. "Fate deserted you."

"Then why tell me this? Do you expect gratitude? Shall I fall on the ground and kiss the toe of your boot?"

"Only so that you know the truth," Avallac'h said. At that moment, the air was illuminated with a flash of green. The sage felt irritation bubble in his stomach as the pale-haired girl appeared between them.

"What's going on here?" Ciri demanded.

"Nothing that concerns you, Zireael. Go back to the temple."

"No," the Hound cut in. "She stays."

"This is only between the two of us. Zireael, go."

The Hound took a step towards him. "You've kept much from her, Craven."

"How does he know who you are?"

 _"Zireael."_

"Tell her!"

His pale blue eyes stared with burning intensity at the wrapped face. "Aineroth—."

"Is _dead!_ Leave him buried in the snow! The only one here now is the Hound," he interrupted.

"He is _not_ dead," Avallac'h stated firmly. "Shedding your name and adopting such a lowly title does you no good."

The Hound closed the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. A hand reached up to his face. Ciri moved closer to Avallac'h. "Look at me," the Hound growled, "and say that." He took the loose wrappings and pulled them down.

Ciri inhaled sharply. Avallac'h clenched his jaw as he gazed at Eredin's handiwork. The Hound's face had no eyes—not even eyelids. All had been forced out by the wicked point of the blade. Flesh had grown over and sealed the sockets shut, leaving only two eerie dents below the brow. Across his face ran the cruel divots of scars, echoes of lacerations slashed copiously by the same knife.

"What happened to you?" Ciri's voice came out in a whisper.

"Eredin," Avallac'h answered, still staring grimly at the ruined face.

"Why?"

"This was the reward for my faithfulness, my unbending loyalty," the Hound seethed, each word moving his mutilated lips. "He did this to me without hesitation as though he were carving a roast, not his most devoted lieutenant."

Finally, Avallac'h looked away. He let his eyes fall on the sand. "That was when I began realizing what kind of demon Eredin Bréacc Glas was. So was sown the seed of clarity that allowed me to see the madman behind everything he did."

"Then you must know," the Hound said, his voice suddenly taking on a desperate note. "Why me? Why did Eredin accuse me?"

"There is no conclusive evidence," Avallac'h admitted, "only speculation. But it is one that fits."

"Then tell it." This time, it was the girl next to him who demanded it.

Avallac'h took a deep breath, and then looked up at Ciri. "Long ago, Zireael, Auberon began looking for a successor. This was before he became the shell of a king you encountered. The logical choice was to pick from one of his generals. And at the forefront of Auberon's preference was Ge'els."

"Him?" Ciri said, the bitterness evident in her tone.

"Yes, with him being Auberon's closest loyalist, it was logical that the king would favor Ge'els. And to strengthen the general's claim to the throne, Auberon promise to Ge'els the hand of one of the members of his court—the famed architect Imris Anath Cyláe Tyrs-Melaós."

"Her hand was never Auberon's to give away," the Hound spat. "He's a coward and a tyrant."

"Was," Avallac'h corrected.

The Hound paused. "… Was?" he repeated.

"Yes, Auberon is no more."

"Who succeeded him?" the Hound demanded.

"His killer. Eredin."

The Hound turned away, balling his hands into fists. "That fucker," he snarled, "is a false king. He pollutes the throne with his presence."

"If Ge'els was secured to the throne, then what happened?" Ciri asked.

"You ought to know that Eredin has a fierce talent for pulling the strings of those around him," Avallac'h told her. "Around the time Auberon engaged Imris to Ge'els, Eredin promoted one of his Red Riders. This Rider, now the top lieutenant directly under Eredin, was Imris's brother—Aineroth Sehr Melaós-Tyrs." Avallac'h looked to the Hound, whose back was still turned. A gentle, salty breeze danced past them and tousled the long black strands. "An ambitious young warrior who was eager to serve his people and dignify his family name. Eredin knew a pawn when he saw one.

"Then, one day there was a terrible clamor in the Moon Palace. I remember it well. There had been an attempt at Auberon's life. When the dust settled, a culprit had been apprehended." The Hound didn't move. "Evidence and testimony piled high against him—most of it from Eredin. And it wouldn't surprise me if he had indirectly sourced the rest as well. Auberon gathered an audience from his court as the true criminal carried out the sentence to the accused."

"Auberon's only redeeming factor is that he spared my sister from playing witness," the Hound added with soft hatred. "The pig was too fond of her. All for the better, perhaps. At least she nor the rest of my family shared in my fall."

"They were forced to reestablish themselves as loyalists by renouncing your existence," Avallac'h told him quietly. "But your 'death' had a lasting effect on Imris. Clouded with loathing for the Red Riders, she broke off her engagement with Ge'els. This came months after you had gone. All were appalled, except one."

Finally, the Hound turned his head. Avallac'h saw the line of a scar run across his cheek and graze the underside of his earlobe. "So," he muttered, "Eredin used me to get to Imris?"

"Ge'els lost his advantage. Shock and grief stunned him. Eredin stepped over his contender and became closer to the king. He became Auberon's shadow, remaining there to slowly poison his mind. The rest is history."

The Hound dipped his head down. Then, he took the loose cloth around his neck and began wrapping them around his face. "So that is the truth. Eredin only ever saw me as a means to an end."

"Eredin values people based on how useful they are to him," Avallac'h said.

"I grasp that now," the Hound replied. He turned. Again, he was shrouded in black. Only the underside of his nose shown through the ebony cloth. "And it is this monster that is now being lured to this temple by your very presence." Avallac'h realized he was no longer talking to him. He shot a quick glare at Ciri. "That is not true," he retorted, but it was too late.

Ciri was gazing intensely at the Hound. Avallac'h didn't like the look she had in her eyes. "We'll leave soon," she said.

"That does not guarantee our safety," the Hound retaliated, "and you know that."

"Leaving is all we can do."

"No it isn't."

A deep sense of foreboding churned in Avallac'h's stomach. "What do you mean?" Ciri asked.

"I once had a blade," the Hound explained. "Powerful and reinforced with enchantments. If I am able to have it in my possession once again, then I will have a better chance at defending my temple should the Red Riders come."

Avallac'h couldn't believe his ears. "Zireael is not returning to Tir ná Lia!" he snapped. He knew without a doubt that Ciri would agree. "Besides, that blade would have been melted down and scrapped. The weapons of traitors never see the privilege of battle again."

"Imris would have saved it," the Hound determined confidently. "Clever as she is—she would have found a way to have them let her keep it. I'm certain of it."

"This is outrageous," Avallac'h retaliated. "We cannot compromise Zireael's safety just because you want a sword."

"I'm not asking you, so keep your opinions to yourself, Craven." The Hound turned his concealed face to Ciri. "The abbess ensured that your wound was tended to and your stomach filled. You are about to repay her kindness with the slaughtering of her people. I know you are aware of this." Ciri was silent as she listened. "You endanger my home, my family." Avallac'h noticed that there was no hesitation in his words. "And you owe me this much."

"We will discuss this in the morning," the sage cut in. "Come, Zireael." He hoped that would be enough time for Ciri to realize the absurdity in the Hound's request.

"Very well," the Hound replied. "I know Cirilla is more open to reason than you are, Craven."


	3. Home

He felt the air slowly warm as the morning matured. Sleep had been sparse last night. The confrontation on the beach was still fresh in his mind, as were the emotions it had kicked up. Old demons had been revived to torment him again. It had been one and a half centuries since that day, but the Hound could still feel the horrible, gut-wrenching pain. A hand drifted up to gingerly touch his face, but all he felt was the cloth that concealed his flawed skin.

Blessed footsteps distracted him. The Hound recognized the sound of her steps and quickly lowered his hand. He shifted to settle further back on the bench. Ciri stopped next to him. He wanted so desperately to ask if she had come to a decision, but waited.

"I want to ask you something."

"Ask," the Hound replied.

"Whose sword is out there on the beach?"

The question bit into him. The Hound lowered his face away. He realized his hands had clenched over his knees and quickly relaxed them. "That is not something you need to know," he stated plainly.

He heard shifting. She had crossed her arms. "I'm still deciding whether or not to trust you," Ciri told him. "So if you still want me to help you, it'd be in your best interest to answer me."

The Hound turned his head a few degrees, listening for anyone nearby. Satisfied that they were alone, he answered, "It belonged to a Fairtheoirí, now passed. The sword is out there in remembrance."

"That one can't be the only deceased Fairtheoirí," Ciri continued. "Why is that one the only sword there?"

Again, the Hound's hands tightened over his knees. "Because," he replied, his voice deathly quiet, "she was the only one I loved."

There was a heavy pause. "Loved?"

"Once again when our two people come together in passion, it ends in tragedy," the Hound muttered. "I should've known, but I couldn't stop myself." He leaned forward and rested his elbows atop his thighs. "I take your silence as disbelief. I don't blame you—it's hard to imagine my kind harboring any kind of feelings towards yours." The Hound clasped his hands together, remembered the sensation of hers between his fingers.

"I hated her when I first met her. She was the epitome of all the Aen Elle disliked in humans—primitive, noisy, dimwitted. Or so I thought she was. She was so unrefined, with no personal boundaries and speaking in that loud voice. But as I learned to see the world through my ears, that voice started becoming beautiful. She had her sight stolen too—not born without it. I noticed she laughed a lot. It bewildered me that someone could be so happy with their life.

"I don't know how it happened. I suddenly found myself in love. But I wouldn't allow it. She was human, after all. I thought if I ignored it, the feelings would disappear." The Hound scoffed. "Even a child knows the flaw in that logic. And just when I thought I had myself cured, she had to pull me aside one day and kiss me. I kissed her back. That was how my curse started. I let her get too close. She was the only one I told of my secret."

He felt Ciri sit down next to him. "What happened to her?"

"Fate caught up to us." He remembered the cruel breathlessness that pained his lungs the moment he realized she was gone. There were no tears to shed that day. "The area was already becoming unstable, and the mage brought forth the portal. He threw her in it. Not even a chance to say goodbye. All he told me was that the portal led to another world. He wouldn't tell me where—he said nothing else, so I stuck a knife between his teeth." The Hound hung his head. "I've often wondered where that portal went. But it wouldn't have mattered. Whether it was another world like this, or one that had been frozen over by the White Frost, I won't ever see her again."

Silence settled, followed by a soft, "I'm sorry."

"Leave it in the past," the Hound said. "We have more pressing matters now. Have you made up your mind?"

He heard Ciri hesitate. "What exactly do you want me to do?" she demanded.

"Once we are in Tir ná Lia, we would need to enter the Tyrs-Melaós estate," the Hound replied. "Locate the sword, and return to this world. It would be best to remain unnoticed the entire time we are there, and I think you'll agree."

"People are going to notice a missing sword."

"That matters not. What can they do when the true culprit is a dead man?" Impatiently, the Hound added. "Daylight trickles away. We've nothing more to discuss. Return to me when you've come to a decision."

"Now you're sounding a little more Aen Elle," the girl grumbled. The Hound stood, reaching to secure the wrappings around his face before walking away. His path led him to the abbess's hall. The Hound stopped in the cool shade of the Melitele statue. Then, tearing out the seedling of doubt that had sprouted within him, he continued forward into the temple. Incense from morning prayers wafted fragrant smoke through the still air. The abbess was there, of course, kneeling before a shrine. She was still as the Hound approached her from behind. "Abbess."

"You sound tired."

"You heard what was said on the beach?"

"I did."

The Hound paused, feeling uneasy. "I never wanted you to think less of me."

"Do you remember when you first brought me here?" Demadira asked. The Hound thought back to the child he had taken from Novigrad. He remembered their first night outside of the city. He had been awake when she thought he was asleep, and he'd listened to the sound of her quiet sobs. "I told you that I missed home, and you said you felt the same way. I understand now." He heard Demadira stand and face him. "How many years have I known you now? Almost 60? You've given me no reason to distrust you."

"Thank you, Abbess."

Demadira turned away. "So now what?" she asked. "Your request to the girl…"

"I do this for the temple."

"I won't stop you. You are your own man." He felt the abbess tilt her head. "Though I find it difficult to wrap my head around the concept of other worlds. Wherever you go, Hound, stay safe and follow the wind."

"I will, Abbess."

* * *

Avallac'h disapproved of her decision. Of course he did. But this wasn't his choice to make. "You said it yourself," she told him before he could say anything. "This is my burden to bear. These consequences are mine, and I'm going to do what I can to mitigate the damage."

"You do not need me to explain to you the foolishness of your decision, do you?" the sage replied in an exasperated tone.

"She doesn't," another voice answered. When the Hound appeared, Ciri noticed the blade strapped to his hip. "I think neither of us are fond of wasting time." He turned his shrouded face to Ciri. "Are you ready?"

"I need to know where we're going," Ciri stated. The Hound hesitated.

"The Tyrs-Melaós estate." His hand tightened over the grip of his sword. "I…"

"You don't even know where to go," Avallac'h said dismissively. "Imris no longer lives in her family's estate. After her marriage, she designed her own manor." To Ciri, he said, "She resides in the Ivory Villa, across the lake from the Moon Palace."

So they were going right into the heart of Tir ná Lia. Ciri wasn't exactly happy about getting so close to the Aen Elle stronghold. "We'll have to be quick," Ciri said, looking to the Hound. "Minutes at the most."

"I don't intend to stay long."

"Let's get this over with," Avallac'h said. "Zireael, if you open the portal I can direct the coordinates."

Ciri took a deep breath. "This will be quick," she repeated, mostly to herself.

The air was torn open—a swirling, growling wound in space. Ciri wasn't sure where the abbess was, but she was certain Demadira noticed the portal as clearly as she could. Her heart beat a heavy, steady rhythm as she looked into the tear, knowing what was lying beyond.

"Ivory Villa," Avallac'h said. "Hurry, Zireael."

Ciri shot a look to the Hound. "After you."

His black cloak fluttered behind him as he strode past the two of them. The edges of the portal glared as the man disappeared within it. Ciri gave the sword strap running across her chest a tug and hurried after him.

One foot touched paved stone and the other came down on springy grass. Ciri stopped, turning her eyes skyward. It was nighttime in Tir ná Lia. The air was crisp and cool. Moonlight streamed down from the cultivated sky, and a breeze whispered through the leafy curtains of a nearby willow tree. They were standing behind a grand, pale mansion that cut into the indigo sky. The back of the manor opened into a wide terrace, illuminated by lanterns on curled hooks.

Ciri heard Avallac'h emerge behind her. The portal disappeared. "This was an unfortunate time," the sage noted distastefully. "Lady Imris will likely be home."

"She won't notice me," the Hound said over his shoulder before boldly marching towards the manor. "Stay out here if you're concerned."

Ciri crossed her arms and looked to the swaying willow tree. "I'm not planning on getting caught here," she grumbled. "Not again." The Hound disappeared into the villa. As nightly silence settled, Ciri heard music drifting from one of the windows. She lifted her head. Dulcet, elegant notes graced the air from an instrument Ciri had never heard before. It was something that didn't exist in her world.

"What is that?"

Avallac'h stopped his slow pacing to answer, "A piano, Zireael."

Then, a voice accompanied the melody. A woman sang, her voice as sweet and beautiful as the piano that complimented it. Her song drifted softly from the window, and even Avallac'h slowed to listen.

"Is that Lady Imris?" Ciri asked.

"No. Her daughter."

Just then, the music stopped abruptly. Ciri listened, but it didn't pick back up. She couldn't help but get a bad feeling. After a while, she heard a woman's voice come faintly from an adjacent window. A louder man answered her. His voice was harsh. Ciri recognized it.

"He said no one would notice him!" she growled. She sprang towards the manor, ignoring the "Zireael!" that chased her. Ciri entered the villa through a wide archway, softening her steps. The inside of the manor was beautiful and well lit—too lit for Ciri's liking. Her fingers twitched as her mind rehearsed the quick draw of her sword, should it come to that. Her skin crawled. They had been in Tir ná Lia for far too long.

The voices led her to a wooden staircase. The railing curved up to the bannister like tree roots. Ciri paused by the foot of the stairs, resting a hand on the looping wood.

"—away!" the woman demanded, her voice laced with fear. Ciri bound up the stairs. She raced through a hallway lined with thin columns and turned the corner. A door was ajar, and she rushed over to the doorway and pressed herself against the wall. One hand came up to gingerly grip the sword grip over her shoulder while she peered into the room. A large, black instrument on four legs sat by an open window. Movement drew Ciri's eyes and she spotted the Hound slowly advancing to a woman backed into a corner. Her hands clutched a blade in its ornate sheath.

"You have no idea what you're meddling with, child!" the Hound seethed. He thrust a hand towards the woman, who flinched. "Give me that sword!"

"Th-this is my mother's sword!" the woman replied, failing in her attempt to sound defiant. "I won't let you take it!"

"It is not hers!"

"Back off!" Ciri snapped, pulling away from the wall to enter the room. The Hound jerked his head to the side. Beyond him, the woman gasped softly.

"Ciri!"

"You know her?" the Hound demanded.

"Ella?" Ciri strode past the Hound. Indeed, it was her—the Aen Elle girl looked just as Ciri remembered from years ago. Pale hair that reflected gold in the light fell long down her back and over her shoulders. Wide, gray eyes sat in a pretty, round face. The hands that gripped the sword were pale. Her fierce protection of the sword reminded Ciri of how she had defied the will of her king and her people to secure Ciri's escape from the capital a year ago. She never imagined she'd see the young elf again.

"Get away from her," Ciri hissed to the Hound. "How dare you corner her like this!"

"We shouldn't be here," the Hound shot back. "She delays our departure. Every additional second we spend here is dangerous." He turned back to the woman, who shrank away.

"Mama loves this sword!" Elaria stated, her voice shaking.

A soft voice spoke up from behind Ciri. "Lady Imris is attached that sword because it belonged to her younger brother, whom she dearly loved." Avallac'h stopped next to Ciri. Elaria's eyes widened when she saw him.

"You!" she breathed. "You were Auberon's advisor!"

"Yes, I know."

"Mama hated you."

"Yes, I know," Avallac'h repeated a little heavier.

Worry creased Elaria's face, and she pulled the sword closer to herself. "And now you've come to steal from her home."

The Hound was prepared to say something, but Avallac'h quickly silenced him by pulling him back with a spell. Ciri watched the sage intensely as he stepped towards the young woman. "A man who comes to reclaim what belongs to him is no thief," Avallac'h said gently, extending an upturned palm towards Elaria. "What do you know of your mother's brother?"

Suddenly, Elaria pulled at the sword grip. A short length of its blade slid out, glinting wickedly in the light. Avallac'h immediately withdrew his hand. "We can't speak of him!" she snapped. "Get back! I-I'll call the guards!"

"Lady Elaria," Avallac'h said, his voice coming out slowly. "We mean you no harm, nor to your family. Our intentions are pure, so do not insult us by calling us thieves." The sage's eyes lowered and he turned his head towards the Hound. "But your e'ythr has returned to take back what is his."

The Hound's wrapped face jerked up.

"E'ythr?" Elaria whispered. Her gray eyes flickered over to the black figure. "Him?"

"Imris's younger brother was never killed, contrary to what everyone believed. He was cast out, unable to return. Until now." Avallac'h glared at Elaria with potency. "Something very dangerous is threatening the world of the Aen Siedhe, Lady Elaria. Zir—Ciri's world." Elaria looked to Ciri. She could practically hear Avallac'h imploring her to play along in his head. Silently, she gave a nod. The sooner they had the sword and left Tir ná Lia, the better.

"What kind of danger?" Elaria asked.

"Eredin."

That single name flickered terror across the young elf's face. She quickly wiped it away, but whispered, "I've seen him. He always seemed… There's something terrible in his eyes." Her hands relaxed around the sheath. She slowly drew it away from herself.

"Yes, and with that blade, we can stop him," Avallac'h told her, once again slowly reaching with an upturned hand. "The weapon you hold is a powerful one—there is nothing like it in Ciri's world."

Ciri watched as blade and hand slowly crept towards each other. Suddenly, she heard the soft shushing of ruffled cloth behind her. Ciri whirled around. The Hound had vanished, and someone standing in the doorway was chanting a spell. Before she could react, Ciri found herself go horrifically numb. A sharp pain struck her shoulder and the side of her head as she fell limp against the floor. She became aware that Avallac'h had hit the ground with her.

Ciri faced the paralyzed sage, but Avallac'h was able to see whoever was approaching them. His eyes rose higher and higher as they followed them. "Aona," he muttered.

"Craven," a woman's voice answered in an amused purr. Ciri heard the sharp tap of some sort of staff accompany the woman's leisurely steps. "Fascinating that I find your withered old face here—cornering Lady Imris's daughter, no less." Avallac'h merely glowered at the one standing right behind Ciri. "Why the sour look, dear sage? Upset that I've bested you? I thought you'd be used to it by now. And what do we have here?" Ciri felt the hard tip of the staff dig into her shoulder as she was turned onto her back. "Now that's _interesting."_

"Aona," Avallac'h said, his voice threateningly soft. Ciri stared up at the sage who had disabled them. Her hair was steely gray, with just a touch of blue in her locks. She wore it in a thick braid draped over her shoulder. A thin circlet adorned her head—thin, web-like chains draped over her hair. In one hand was a short, black staff topped with a carved, azure crystal. Her dark blue robes rippled as she stooped to inspect Ciri. Then, she straightened and stepped over Ciri. "Lady Elaria," the sage addressed softly. "Are you hurt?"

"N-No, I…" Elaria stammered. She looked down and locked eyes with Ciri. "They…"

"Aona, you know I would not have returned if it were not for something of the utmost importance," Avallac'h said. "For the good of our people, you must release us. Every second we are delayed spells greater doom."

"You talk too much, Craven," Aona dismissed boredly. "And as always, there is so little meaning among so many words." As she spoke, Ciri's scanned the room. The Hound was nowhere to be seen. Panicked, she wondered if he had set them up. But that didn't make sense—he had lost contact with his people since his banishment. Or had he? Maybe he was still working with Eredin. But his scarred face…

"I see you were attempting to steal Lady Imris's sword," Ciri heard Aona note. She clicked her tongue. "Petty. How the mighty have fallen." The click of her heels stopped by Avallac'h's head. "If it were up to me, I'd have you strung upside down and flogged until sunrise. Fortunately for you, the decision is not mine to make. Lady Imris is returning from a visit to a construction site, but she should be here soon." Aona stepped over Avallac'h, letting the toe of her shoe scuff his shoulder. "If it's not too much trouble, Craven, I'd like you to remain right where you are. Come with me, Lady Elaria."

Elaria remained where she stood. The azure sage glanced curiously at her. "I'll… I'll watch them."

Aona paused. "Very well," she said. "Keep your distance. Even trapped animals may attempt to lash out."

As soon as she was gone from the room, Elaria dropped to her knees. She set the sword aside and grabbed Ciri's arm, giving it a helpless shake. "What do I do?"

"If you've no magic about you to counter the spell, then there is nothing you can do," Avallac'h grumbled. "Where has Aineroth gone?"

"I don't see him," Ciri said. "Did he lure us here?"

"Unlikely," Avallac'h replied. "Without us, he has no way of returning. He fled at the first sign of trouble—probably heard Aona coming before us."

"A little warning would have been nice."

"And now we're in the mercy of that cursed witch."

"Aona was only trying to protect me," Elaria defended. "She's looked after my family since I was a little girl." She grabbed the sheath and stood. "I'll go find your friend. Maybe he can do something before my mother arrives."

Ciri watched the young woman hurry out of the room, trying to ignore the pounding of her own heart. Lady Imris was coming—a member of the king's court. Eredin's court. It couldn't end like this.

* * *

It had only been a minute or two. He couldn't have gone far. He wouldn't have abandoned his companions. Elaria peered into her father's study—empty. No figure enshrouded in black. Did he go downstairs?

As she searched, Elaria thought back to what the sage Avallac'h had told her. That man was her e'ythr? Her mother's brother? She only knew what had happened to him through what her father told her in hushed whispers. The Red Riders had killed him for being a traitor, or so that was the story told.

"Stop," came a quiet voice in the shadow of a pillar. Elaria jumped and was prepared to scream when he emerged, one finger pressed gently over his covered lips. Watching him wearily, Elaria took a step back. But unlike when they had last met, his demeanor had changed. He stopped before her, and Elaria wondered how he managed to see through the cloth over his face.

"What is your name?" he asked. "Elaria?"

"Ella," she replied softly.

"Ella." It was alarming how gentle the man's voice had become. Despite how he looked, how he treated her before, he suddenly seemed safe. "You are Imris's child?"

"Yes." Elaria suddenly remembered what she had come for. "Aona has Ciri and the sage trapped. She's gone to get my mother. I'm afraid they'll be taken to Lord Ge'els."

"If they are under Aona's spell, I cannot help them," the man replied. "But what I can do is wait for the enchantments to be lifted."

"But what if she doesn't lift the spells?" Elaria fretted. "What if she takes them to the Moon Palace like that?" She looked down at the sword in her hands. The implication frightened even her.

The man seemed to understand what she was thinking. "I will not raise a weapon against my own kin," he stated. "For now, all we can do is wait." He tilted his head towards the end of the hallway. "In here." The man motioned towards the nearby door, which led to one of the empty guest suites.

Elaria shut the door behind her. "I might be able to do something," she said. "Talk to the viceroy myself."

"I doubt your connection with him is strong enough to sway his mind," the man said. "Especially if he is presented with the carrier of the Elder blood herself."

"It might be," Elaria said defiantly. "At the very least, I'll have his ear. He'll listen to his daughter-in-law."

The cloaked man lifted his head to her. "You are…?"

"Aelric aep Arden Dain, first born to Viceroy Ge'els, is my husband," Elaria explained.

"A Red Rider?" The young woman didn't miss the acidity in his voice.

"He commands the reserve," Elaria said. "Aelric is absent from our home, having spent the last few weeks at the garrison. He believes Eredin will call the rest of his cavalry to the human world soon. I do not wish for it to happen. That would put him in danger." Elaria lowered her eyes.

"It sounds like you care for him deeply."

"I do. After my hand was promised, I was scared. I had only met him a few times before we were wed, but I came to know him as a wonderful man." She smiled gently as memories of warm afternoons under open pavilions and cool nights out on the lake drifted across her mind.

"It relieves me to hear that you are happy." The man spoke in a mutter, as if to himself. Elaria looked up at him.

"Who are you?" she asked. "The sage called you Aineroth."

"That is no longer my name. Cast it aside and never address me by it," he responded. "Now, among the humans, I am known as the Hound."

"You live amongst the humans now?"

"They accepted me when the Aen Elle cast me out." The way he spoke was as if he were no longer an elf at all.

"But…" Elaria's brow furrowed. "If my mother knew… She thought she lost you. It's made her become bitter. My father tells me she used to smile so much more often. Let her know."

The Hound gave a harsh shake of his head. "No," he said sternly. "Speak to no one of me. Let Lady Imris continue to believe what she does."

"Why?"

"I don't want her to know what they did to me," the Hound replied softly. "It was a fate worse than death. Hatred encases her now—knowing of my actual fate would make it worse."

"What… _did_ they do to you?" Elaria suddenly longed to peer underneath the wrapped face. But the Hound turned his head away.

"I cannot see," he admitted. "I have no eyes."

Elaria's heart skipped a beat. "That's… awful! Did he… Eredin? Was it him?"

"Yes."

The young woman fought down a shiver. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Even if she wasn't allowed to speak of you, Mama missed you terribly."

"How is she?" the Hound asked, a painfully tender note in his voice.

"She stays in her bitter, stoic shell most of the time," Elaria said. "But sometimes my father manages to coax her out of it."

"Your father. Who is he?"

"Galanth Melaós-Tyrs. He's a playwright and a musician."

"Strange," the Hound remarked. "A far step away from the viceroy."

"He comforted her while she grieved. And he has no association with the Red Riders."

"I see. It sounds like Imris has found happiness with him. That is good." The Hound turned his head. Elaria wondered if he was listening. The way he directed his ears this way and that reminded her of the way her pet cat had behaved. "Imris is here," he announced solemnly. Extending a hand, he said, "Ella, please."

Elaria reached out and gave him the sword. As soon as it touched his hands, the runes along the hilt glowed a bright white for second before fading. The Hound turned the blade in his hands, his hands moving with slow fondness. Then, he lowered it to his side. "Stay here, Ella. I must go help them." He took a step, and then hesitated. "I'm glad I was able to meet you."

"Me too, E'ythr."

* * *

Something told him that his back slammed a little too roughly against the wall on purpose. Aona propped Ciri up next to him as the woman standing before them examined them a cold, calculating gaze.

Lady Imris looked like a formidable woman. Beautiful as she was, it was no wonder she had such a firm hold on the viceroy's affection before and even after her change of heart. Elbows bent and hands folded regal-like before her. Her thin lips were curved downward in a look of stark displeasure.

"Avallac'h," she addressed, her pleasant voice marred with course spite. "The gods must truly be upset with me if I am made to hold the likes of you within my home. No—don't speak. I've no desire to listen to the noises you make." Next, her steely eyes fell on Ciri. "And the child of the Elder herself. You went through great lengths to escape our capital when last you were here, and now you've returned. Tell me why, and keep your explanation short."

Imris knew him all to well. By exploiting Ciri, she was avoiding Avallac'h's carefully tailored tongue. Thankfully, the girl next to him kept silent. This did not please Imris.

"I have not yet alerted Viceroy Ge'els of your presence," Imris told them. "But if you prefer to remain uncooperative, I may be inclined to send a messenger his way."

"Lady Imris—."

"Avallac'h," the woman cut off, her eyes still lowered to Ciri. "Eredin would be very intrigued to know that you are here, captive and helpless. He's not pleased with you, as you likely know. Are you aware where he plans to hang your insides should he get ahold of you?" She delicately unfolded one hand and gestured to Ciri. "Well?"

"We've come to return something to someone," Ciri answered. The sage was relieved by her response. He had feared that Ciri would try to convince Imris that Aineroth still lived. Such a thing would be hard to prove, especially since the Hound had vanished. And he knew what the mention of that name would trigger within Imris.

"Something. Someone. A purposely vague explanation. I see Avallac'h has taught you well. I'll give you one more chance."

"Aineroth's sword."

Avallac'h's heart dropped. He saw the skin across Imris's hands tighten as they squeezed one another. "Aona," she said, her icy voice coming through a clenched jaw. "Send word to the Moon Palace." The sorceress left the room.

"A sword like his is strong enough to defeat Eredin," Ciri continued hurriedly. "In his memory, in his honor, let his blade cut down the ones who wronged him."

"You ask me to allow you to kill my king? Such sacrilege," Imris replied, returning to her austere composure. Her eyes flickered to the floor. Suddenly, Avallac'h noticed movement at the door. He caught a glimpse of a dark silhouette in the doorway. "It has been years since someone has spoken Aineroth's name to me," she added quietly. "I know exactly what Lord Eredin would want me to do with the two of you." Her eyes rose to meet Ciri's. "But I have no love for the king, nor his cause. Take the sword. Take Eredin down. Something tells me this is what Aineroth would have wanted."

Imris turned away and gazed out of the window until Aona returned. She ordered the sorceress to lift the paralysis. Aona was surprised, but did as she was told. Avallac'h found feeling in his limbs again and rose. The steely-haired sorceress regarded him with a look of disfavor. "Now take yourself out of my sight."

"I lament at the misfortune of falling within it," he replied. Aona's delicate eyebrows crashed angrily over her eyes.

"Leave," Imris ordered. Her voice was quiet, but it was like a whiplash.

When they left the Ivory Villa, the Hound rejoined them. In his hand was the sword. "Good to know you're willing to abandon us at the slightest hint of danger," Ciri muttered to him.

"I apologize. I thought it better if at least one of us was able to move about, and few are able to detect me."

"Why did you not reveal yourself to Imris?" Avallac'h demanded.

The Hound paused. "She does not need the ghosts of her past coming back to haunt her," he said simply. "Now take us back. I do not wish to linger here a moment longer."

"Something we can all agree on," Ciri said.

* * *

Fear seized her heart when Elaria saw Lord Ge'els arrive. She was terrified for Ciri, and hurried up to the room with the piano only to find it empty. She found Aona and questioned her.

"Lady Imris saw fit to release them," the sorceress replied in a hushed voice. "But speak nothing of it. In her message, Lady Imris did not specify why she was requesting the viceroy's attention. Even with the favor she holds with her position, it would not spare her if Eredin knew what she had done." Elaria pressed her lips together, nodding solemnly.

She crept down the stairs and stopped halfway to listen to the faint voices of her mother and the viceroy. Lord Ge'els was asking her mother why she had called him.

"I thought I had something important to discuss with you," Imris responded indistinctly. "But I've changed my mind."

There was a pause. "I see," came Ge'els in a tight voice. "A habit that you seem regrettably fond of."

"Viceroy," Imris addressed formally. "Leave puerile quips for children. I apologize for wasting your time, and bid you a good night."

Quickly, Elaria descended the rest of the steps and headed towards the terrace in the back. She wanted to make sure Ciri and the others had made out of the villa. Suddenly, a figure appeared next to her and stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. Elaria's eyes widened when she recognized the man in front of her.

Viréas d'Claris was just daunting as his commander, though he was more terrifying to Elaria than Eredin was. He held rank above her husband, something Viréas was never shy to remind Elaria of. His hair, just as pale as Elaria's, was swept back and fell neatly down his back. On one side, his hair was braided. His face, though fair, was spoiled by his eerie heterochromia. One eye was a pale, frozen blue while the other was a dark amethyst. By contrast, a greasy smile stretched his mouth.

"Lady Elaria," he hummed deeply. "How pleasant it is that we meet again." Elaria kept her arms close to her sides. Then, Viréas dropped the formality and allowed his true nature to surface. "I see Aelric still has not returned home. How cold your sheets must be." A brazen hand slithered up Elaria's arm. She frowned and tried moving away, but that hand suddenly pinched her arm with a tight grip.

"Now, now, my little dove." Viréas brought his face down closer. "No need to act so modest. You are far too delectable to only be restrained to one man."

Elaria finally forced herself to look up into those mismatched eyes. They bore into her with a deep, hungry stare. His disturbing gaze undressed her. It wasn't so much the different colors of his eyes that frightened her, but the carnal way he stripped her bare with them as if nothing could protect her from his desire. She tried to glare back, conveying her defiance. Her gaze faltered. The moment her eyes lowered, Elaria felt fingers digging into her jaw. Her head was pulled up and her breath was cut off when Viréas forced his lips onto hers. Startled, Elaria tried to scream, but that only allowed him to push his tongue into her mouth. A hand came around and pinned her head in place until Viréas had satiated himself.

She gasped for air when he finally released her. The hand on the back of her head wound into her hair. "My dear," he purred, his hot breath scorching Elaria's skin. "You taste as good as you look."

One of Elaria's hands tightened into a fist. Her eyes flew up, seething. In a flash, she brought one of her hands up to slap him across the face. But before she could touch him, he had her by the wrist. Amused, he watched her. His eyes didn't move from hers as he brought her hand to his face and ran his tongue across her fingertips. Elaria clenched her hand, but he squeezed her wrist until she whimpered.

"I'll tell him," she threatened in a furious whisper. "The viceroy will have your head."

"You'll tell no one," Viréas replied nonchalantly, running his lips across the flesh of her palm. "Not if you value your husband's life." A smirk creased his lips when he saw the fear run across the young woman's face. "You do realize what I could do to him, don't you?"

Elaria was silent. Viréas was right. Aelric was a soldier who had sworn his life for his people as all Riders had done. If the earl was to fall, Tir ná Lia would see it as tragic but not unexpected.

"And not only that." Viréas, still squeezing Elaria's hand, held it between them. His eyes pierced hers. "One year ago, on a day very similar to this one, the carrier of the stolen Elder blood managed to escape Auberon's very carefully guarded castle. Do you remember, my lady?"

Elaria had a very uncomfortable, sinking premonition of where this conversation was headed. Nonetheless, she fought to keep her face neutral. "It was unfortunate," she said.

"Indeed it was." Viréas tilted his head slightly. "Though I've heard that a little dove helped her bypass the guards."

Her heart leapt. "H-how dare you accuse me! No one will believe you!"

"Of course not." Elaria flinched when she felt a hand press against the small of her back. She felt it crawl lower. "Why would I want to hurt you? Not when I've so many others to choose from. Let's see..." His mockingly cruel voice trailed off as Viréas lifted his eyes and ponderously stared into the distance. His hand, still feeling her, pulled her closer. "Shall I pick on poor Aelric again? Or perhaps direct the blame to your father? Ah, Galanth. When Eredin learns of what he did, what do you think he'll do to that poor, useless man? Tir ná Lia has plenty of other musicians. The viceroy wouldn't protect him—in fact, he'd be quite glad to get that deadbeat out of the way, wouldn't you agree? Especially since he's an old fool who still wants what isn't his. So you see, Elaria..." He looked down and delicately, lovingly, lifted her head by the chin. "Don't threaten my head, because I can do so much worse. Tir ná Lia is changing, my dear. I do hope you know with whom to stand when I change it."

Suddenly, the predator before her vanished. Viréas dropped his arms and quickly stepped back, seeming to shape shift into an entirely different man. The seedy, lecherous look in his eyes was replaced with a kindliness that was so warm it could have been genuine.

Elaria heard someone stop behind her. "Viréas," she heard Ge'els say.

The pale-haired elf looked past Elaria, respect refining his face. "Viceroy," he addressed in a reverent voice. "You have need of me?"

"Our business here is done. We are leaving," Ge'els said.

Viréas dipped his head low. "Of course, Viceroy." That pleasant gaze returned to Elaria. "It's been a pleasure speaking to you, Lady Elaria. When next I visit the garrison, I'll be sure to tell Sir Aelric to set aside more time for you. And give my regards to your father." He stooped into a regal bow.

Elaria kept her eyes lowered as Viréas stepped around her. She turned when she heard viceroy say to her, "Va faill, Ella. Have a good night."

"Thank you, Viceroy," she responded in a quiet voice. When they were gone, and Elaira was finally alone, she wrapped her arms around herself.

* * *

The temple was an incredibly welcoming sight when they exited the portal. Ciri looked up at the tall spires, exhaling deeply as though she had been holding her breath for a long time. The Hound stepped forward, and then stopped. He ran his fingertips over the hilt of the blade, where runes were etched into the metal.

"That was a rather unsavory journey," Avallac'h muttered.

"I know," the Hound said. "And I… must thank you. Not just for helping me retrieve this blade, but also for giving me the chance to meet Imris's daughter. And for letting me hear my sister's voice again." He took a step forward, tilting his head back as though gazing at Deml'ar Gaoithe. "Odd, how I felt so foreign in Tir ná Lia. I suppose this truly is my home now—the temple and everyone in it." He flipped the blade and held it with both hands. "This may not be the blade that strikes Eredin down, but this is the world he will fall in. I want to be there when it happens. Maybe then, our worlds will know less chaos."

"We can only hope," Avallac'h replied.


End file.
